


Reunion

by CanadianGarrison



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aramis demonstrates his intentions, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Fingering, Gangbang, Hair Pulling, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, They literally have Aramis over a barrel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inseparables are reunited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>"In that case," Aramis said, "we won't let it be about how much we've missed each other. Please, let me show you how much I love you, even after all this time. Let me show you what we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.”  </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Very light spoilers for the beginning of Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my #smuttyladies for audiencing and encouragement, and to the Jack and Azile_Teacup for editing. All mistakes are my own, and sadly I do not own the characters.

The cellar was dark but not empty. Luc’s secret entrance to the monastery was well-hidden, but there was no way to know that one of the enemy hadn’t made his way down here as well. D’Artagnan took the lead with Athos and Porthos right behind him, swords drawn. 

“Who’s there?” No answer from the shadowy figure, just more obstacles thrown in their path. “Show yourself!”   
  
“Stop,” Luc cried, “Not him! This is —”

“Aramis. We know.”

* * *

"Luc, would you see that the children are all fed? Take them up to the kitchens; Brother Thomas will help you." Luc looked up at Aramis with the unmistakeable air of a young man who feels he's too old to be packed off with the children when adults want to talk privately.

"I know," Aramis said, and it sounded like he was continuing a conversation they'd had before. Perhaps several times. "But we have a few things to catch up on. It may be late before we’re done; don't wait up."   
  
The next few minutes passed in a blur — more hugs, more conversation, Aramis with more questions about home, Constance, and Treville, and d'Artagnan asking about the monastery and the orphans. 

Athos listened, smiling, drinking in the sight of his brothers together once more. It had been far too long. Porthos still held himself back; he had accepted Aramis's decision to leave, but took it more personally than either he or d'Artagnan had, Athos knew, and missed Aramis more keenly than they had, as well. 

Eventually the four of them were seated on crates arranged in a rough circle around a barrel that they pressed into service as a makeshift table, passing around a bottle of wine that Aramis had unearthed from a nearby shelf. 

“Are you even allowed to be drinking this?” d'Artagnan asked, laughter in his voice but confusion in his eyes. 

“No,” Aramis answered. “But… I've been thinking. Since… Well, since I got here, but more specifically in the last few months. I made a vow to serve God, and I've tried to do so in the way I thought God wanted… I'm not so sure anymore that I was right. What if God sent you here as a sign, to show me where my path leads?”

“Then we will be glad of your return,” Athos answered promptly. “But are you certain? I know our arrival here has thrown the monastery into upheaval, I don't want to make things worse.”

“Don't concern yourself with that,” Aramis reassured Athos. “The war caused the upheaval, and I've struggled my whole life to find my true place; your return has spurred on a decision that was a long time coming. I need to rejoin you, my brothers.”

Porthos shifted in his seat, warring emotions showing plain in his face. “I want you back with us,” he said. “But… How do I know you won't leave again?” Athos heard the “me” that Porthos didn't quite say, loud and clear.  _ “How do I know that you won't leave me?” _ It was harsh, but had to be asked — how could any of them trust that Aramis would stay, this time? 

For a moment, they were all silent, looking at each other across a gap of years as well as just the few feet between their crates. 

“I suppose you don't… But only tell me what I can do, how I can prove myself, and I will.” Aramis's voice was shaking with emotion, and he reached out to clasp Porthos's hand across the barrel. “I left you once, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done, even worse than renouncing my own son. I could never leave you again.”

Aramis's declaration reminded Athos of the night he told them he was leaving to become a monk. They had parted ways after Aramis explained his decision, but that evening they all ended up at their regular tavern, drinking and getting more and more maudlin as the night continued. 

Aramis had been due to depart in the morning, and none of them had wanted the evening to end. They’d made their way to Porthos's rooms, where the three of them had passed Aramis around among them for hours, taking turns showing him exactly how much they would miss him. Now that they had been reunited, was Aramis offering to rejoin them in a similar manner? It did seem somehow fitting.

“Only time will truly repair our brotherhood,” Athos said, “but… a demonstration of your intentions might not hurt.”

Aramis flushed, his eyes downcast as he clearly remembered the same night Athos was thinking about. . _.. _ _Had_ it hurt, and Athos didn’t know? Or was there something else still holding Aramis back?

"I — I don't think they want —" he broke off, gesturing towards d'Artagnan and Porthos, who was now holding Aramis’s hand in both of his. 

"You — how could you think I don't want you, Aramis, want you back in every way? But you gotta understand, I would  _ never _ want you to feel like you have to pay me back for leaving, or like you owe me something… I know you did what you had to do, and it was important. I just… It hurt.”

Porthos trailed off and Aramis gazed at him with so much love in his eyes that Athos was almost tempted to steal away silently, give them some time alone together. Almost. 

"In that case," Aramis said, "we won't let it be about how much we've missed each other. Please, let me show you how much I love you, even after all this time. Let me show you what we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.”  

With that, Aramis leaned forwards across the barrel and kissed Porthos, sighing into his mouth and reaching up to wrap his arms around Porthos’s neck. The position laid him out across the hard wooden edge of the barrel, and Aramis squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position without relinquishing Porthos’s lips. 

After a moment Porthos realized why Aramis wouldn’t stop shifting, and he pulled back, standing up and guiding Aramis to do the same. 

“C’mere,” Porthos said, “Let’s get you undressed while our clever Captain finds a way to make this a little more comfortable for you.” Athos did as Porthos directed, searching the cellar and finding very little of use, especially since he kept stealing glances back to where Porthos and d'Artagnan were slowly removing Aramis's robes, baring him to the cool room and flickering candlelight. 

Eventually, Athos decided to pile their doublets under Aramis's robes on the barrel to pad the edges, since it was already a very good height for their purposes. When he was done, Porthos lay Aramis down over it again, now naked except for his sandals, pressing him forward by one shoulder to show Aramis exactly how he should position himself for them.

The barrel was high enough that Aramis was completely accessible to d’Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, but low enough that he could still brace himself with his feet, and they wouldn’t have to strain to reach him. Aramis shuddered under Athos’s gaze, perhaps realizing exactly how exposed he was, perhaps considering the ramifications of what he’d offered. After all, he’d been in the monastery for years… 

“Aramis,” Athos said quietly, reaching out to stroke down his side with one hand. “In the last few years, have you…” Athos wasn’t sure how to even phrase his question, but Aramis understood, just like always. 

“No,” he answered, voice calm although perhaps a bit shaky underneath. “I made a vow of celibacy, and I kept that vow. But… I need this. I need you.”   
  
“Of course,” d’Artagnan said fiercely. “Just as we need you. But you don’t have to let all of us take you to prove it, especially not all in one night. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not  _ letting _ you three do anything to prove anything.” Aramis’s smile was twisted, but true. “I… I want you all. I  _ yearned _ for you so much, d’Artagnan, for  _ you _ . And Athos, and Porthos, yes. The three of you own me in a way nothing and no-one else ever will, and — if my first chance to have you all again comes here and now in a wine cellar, then so be it. At least Athos feels at home.” 

Athos let out a surprised huff at that, and leaned over to kiss Aramis deeply, properly, for the first time since their arrival. As the kiss continued, d’Artagnan’s hand came up to rest on Aramis’s back, fingers twining with Athos’s and then slipping away again to stroke farther down Aramis’s side, over the curve of his arse. When Athos moved back, d’Artagnan was there to take his place, kissing Aramis and twining one hand into his hair, still curly and lush. 

Porthos growled softly, reaching up to caress Aramis's cheek. “So good to see you together,” he said. Aramis was straining into the kiss, every muscle taut. “You can relax, ‘Mis, we’re not letting you go ever again.” Aramis sighed as Porthos spoke, and d’Artagnan pulled away slowly, pressing little kisses all over Aramis's face. 

“All these silver hairs,” d’Artagnan said, kissing Aramis's beard, which Athos couldn't help but notice was as perfect as always. “Didn't think I'd get to see these.” 

Porthos laughed, shoving d’Artagnan away by one shoulder and sitting back down on his crate. “I saw them,” Porthos said, punctuating his words with a kiss of his own, then licking over Aramis's lips, already swollen from more touch than he had been accustomed to for years. “I saw them in my dreams, every night.” That declaration brought a moan from Aramis himself, swiftly obscured by more kisses from Porthos's eager mouth. 

Athos left them to it, walking back around Aramis's body and pulling up a crate opposite to where Porthos was sitting. As he sat down, he caressed Aramis's bare arse, let his hands slide up and over the skin, thumbs digging in to squeeze big handfuls of flesh. Was Aramis softer here than he had been? 

Athos spread Aramis's cheeks, leaned in, and then all he knew was Aramis, the taste on his tongue and smell in his nose and soft flesh under his fingers and lips all combining to overwhelm him, beckon him in deeper. Athos was gripping tight enough to bruise, now, but Aramis was pushing back against his mouth like it was the best thing he'd ever felt, like he  _ needed it, _ and all Athos could do was give him more, give him deeper; lick in with his tongue and thrust, take,  _ fuck _ his brother, his lover, the man whose lack had been an ache in him for years. 

Strong hands tangled in Athos's hair and yanked, pulling him away with a wet, dirty sound. Athos struggled against the fingers holding him back, unable to tear his eyes away from Aramis's hole, flexing and shining with spit in the cool cellar air. 

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” Porthos reassured him, and Athos subsided, looking up into Porthos's face. His dark eyes were shining with unshed tears, balanced by a smile full of affection and amusement. “You can have him, he's here with us now. Let yourself breathe.” How could Athos explain that he didn't want to, if he couldn't taste Aramis on every breath? He just nodded and then turned his head against Porthos's grip, pressing soft kisses up and down Aramis's cleft, letting himself hear every breath and moan it drew from his brother. 

The sounds were a bit muffled. Without pausing in his ministrations, Athos looked up across Aramis's naked back, laid out over the barrel. Athos saw that d’Artagnan was claiming Aramis’s mouth, holding his head tilted back and controlling everything about the kiss, pulling away when Aramis pushed towards him, surging forwards when Aramis fell back. 

As Porthos returned to d'Artagnan's side, he took over holding Aramis's face up to be kissed, licking into his mouth while holding Athos's gaze, fucking in with his tongue just as Athos did the same. Aramis cried out, reaching up to tug on Porthos's hair, begging for more with every motion of his lithe, beautiful form. 

“That's our Athos,” d'Artagnan said with a small laugh. “He always likes to use his mouth. Did you think about it, Aramis? About how he could make you feel?”

Porthos leaned back in his seat, giving Aramis a moment to breathe so he could answer, though Athos didn't stop what he was doing to Aramis's arse. 

“I tried not to,” Aramis said. “Especially at first, it was so hard to — mm — to obey that vow; to not even touch myself. It got easier, but… I’ve spent years wanting, and not having. Needing, and not getting. Now that you're all here, I think I'm going to spend fairly soon.” Aramis sounded more and more wrecked as he spoke, his hips still rocking back against Athos's face. 

“And repeatedly,” Porthos added, his voice rough with arousal. “You can spend all you want, ‘Mis, we'll still give you what you need. We won't stop until we're sure. Until you've had all of us.”

Athos kept licking, swirling his tongue around Aramis's hole just how Aramis had always liked best. As Porthos and d'Artagnan continued trading kisses with Aramis and each other, Athos slid one hand closer in and let the tip of his finger join his tongue, taking turns pushing in with finger, then tongue, then finger again, drooling all over Aramis — it was so good to have him here, with them, alive and giving. 

At first Athos kept up an even back-and-forth, but as Aramis grew more and more wild in his hands Athos changed tactics, fucking in a few times with his finger, then licking up his own spit and thrusting with his tongue over and over, until Aramis started keening into Porthos's mouth. 

D'Artagnan crouched down at Athos's side, pushed against him until Athos shuffled over enough that d'Artagnan could share his crate. When Athos finally lifted his face out of Aramis's arse, he saw a small pot of oil in d'Artagnan's hand, already open, battered from travel all across France but overall in good shape. 

“Ready for me, Aramis?” D'Artagnan asked. 

Aramis gasped loudly — Porthos must have stopped kissing so he could answer. 

“Oh, my brothers, yes, let me feel you all touching me!” Aramis was so eager, so _ecstatic_ , and Athos couldn't resist giving him one more long lick, tongue wriggling against his own finger deep in Aramis's little hole. 

D'Artagnan slid one slim, oiled finger in beside Athos's. Aramis gasped and clenched around them both, then grunted again and again as he started to spend all over the robes that padded the barrel. 

Transfixed, Athos watched as Aramis’s hole flexed open, and he thrust back onto their fingers as he rode out his climax. Aramis's cries of pleasure were swallowed up in Porthos's mouth, but eventually he said “thank you,” and Athos looked up in time to see Aramis kissing his crucifix. Athos wasn't quite sure who Aramis was thanking, but decided not to press the issue. Instead he withdrew his finger from Aramis's arse, holding his hand out and waiting for d'Artagnan to pour oil onto his fingers. 

“That's my Aramis,” Porthos said. “Spending so good and pretty for us. Did you like it?”

“Yes!” Aramis answered vehemently. “After so long, to have all three of you touching me again…”

“And not just touching you, but fucking you,” d'Artagnan joined in. “Athos and me both fingering you, getting you ready for us…” D'Artagnan slid his finger in and out of Aramis's arse as he spoke, spreading oil around, and Athos was ready to do the same. 

“Stop, for just a moment, eh?” Porthos asked, and d'Artagnan held his finger still, deep in Aramis. Athos gripped his own knees to keep himself steady until they knew what Porthos wanted. His uniform trousers were getting dirty, but Athos couldn't bring himself to care. 

Porthos was standing, both hands on his own clothes, working with buckles and buttons and laces until his jacket was off, his shirt open, and his trousers down past his knees. Then Porthos caught sight of Aramis's upturned face and grinned wolfishly at him. “That's right, ‘Mis. You've earned a treat.” 

Stepping forward, Porthos gripped his thick cock with one hand and Aramis's hair with the other, rubbing the dripping head over Aramis's mouth and cheeks and chin, drawing more moans out of him, leaving sticky trails in his beard. “Want your mouth, ‘Mis. Been so long, I might — mm — I might not be gentle. Might choke you with it a little.” 

Aramis strained against the strong hand holding him back, until Porthos shook him a bit by the hair. “Be good, love, or I'll take your treat away, and then where would we be?” Aramis actually whined at that, and Athos was certain he was begging with his eyes, surely still focused on Porthos's. Then slowly, finally, Porthos stopped teasing and slid that gorgeous cock of his into Aramis's mouth, not pausing until he was all the way in and Aramis was shaking, choking, throat rebelling as he clearly struggled to remember his old skills. 

“Now,” Porthos said, nodding at Athos and d'Artagnan while slipping back out to rest his cock on Aramis's lips, both hands still buried in Aramis's curls. “Now you can give it to him.” They didn't hesitate, Athos sliding a slick finger into Aramis's tight hole to join d'Artagnan’s, then starting up a rhythm — as one thrust in, the other would pull back, over and over. Aramis was bucking and writhing in place, and Athos and d'Artagnan each held a hip with their free hands to help keep Aramis steady. 

Aramis lunged forward against their grips to get Porthos's leaking cock back in his mouth, but as soon as Porthos resumed using Aramis's hair to tug his head back and forth, thrusting in with his hips each time he pulled Aramis towards him, Aramis went limp in their arms. 

“You're so gorgeous,” d'Artagnan breathed softly, almost worshipfully. “So hungry for us. Aramis, I want you so much, want to fuck you so hard.” Aramis didn't seem to try to nod, just made more greedy sounds around Porthos's cock. He was drooling, groaning, body relaxed and open, legs spread and torso relaxed, arms just hanging down like he'd forgotten he even had them, fingers twitching. 

Athos looked to d'Artagnan, taking his hand off Aramis’s arsecheek to wrap it around d’Artagnan’s shoulders, and leaning in to share a very flavourful kiss. "Do you want to go first?” Athos asked. 

“I… I don’t want to hurt him,” d'Artagnan said hesitantly. 

“Of course not,” Athos replied. “But… I think Aramis can take it. We'll make sure he's nicely stretched for you.” 

Porthos growled at that, rocking Aramis back with a powerful thrust and then staying deep in his throat for a moment, making Aramis choke around his cock. “Not too stretched,” Porthos said. “He needs to feel everything we give him.” Athos didn't dignify that with an answer, simply raised his eyebrow. He well remembered Aramis's penchant for being inadequately prepared, but also knew that Porthos didn't truly want to hurt Aramis today, and felt certain they could find the sweet spot, as it were. 

Athos looked back at d'Artagnan and then nodded towards the pot of oil, drawing his finger most of the way out of Aramis's still-tight hole so d'Artagnan could pour some on. He then slid two fingers into Aramis, slowly and carefully, making sure Aramis had lots of time to adjust. 

“That's right,” Athos murmured as Aramis clenched around the fingers stretching him wide. “You're so perfect for us, taking Porthos with that wicked mouth. As soon as you're ready, d'Artagnan is going to fuck this hot little arse of yours.” 

Athos crooked his fingers inside Aramis and rubbed back and forth against that special spot, feeling the tight hole quiver and clench around him. “Do you want to know what I'm going to do then?” 

Aramis shook his head, not enough to disrupt Porthos’s steady thrusts. He always did like to be surprised. 

“Very well,” Athos said. “You just focus on being open, being taken. We’ll do the rest.” 

Athos felt something nudging against his fingers and looked back down at where they were still rocking into Aramis's slick entrance. D'Artagnan had a second finger rubbing up against the rim of Aramis's hole, and as Athos watched, he slowly pushed it in alongside the three already in him. Aramis coughed and sobbed, and Athos ran a soothing hand along his back. 

Athos lost track of time as they continued like this, drifting on the clench and release of Aramis's arse, the press of d'Artagnan's fingers against his, the breathy growls coming from Porthos as he kept up a slow and steady fuck of Aramis's mouth. 

Eventually, Aramis slurped as he pulled all the way off Porthos’s cock, tugging against Porthos's hold on his hair until he took a few gasping, gravelly breaths. “I'm ready,” he said, and his voice was so wrecked, so aroused, that Athos knew he was telling the truth. “I need more now, please!” 

Athos looked to d'Artagnan and smiled, slowly sliding both fingers out of Aramis's hole. D'Artagnan smiled back, holding still until Athos stood up, then doing the same without removing his own fingers. “You're so loose now,” d'Artagnan said, “stretched so open for us. I can't wait to feel this” — he paused to do something, Athos wasn't sure what — “around my cock. Do you have any idea how hard I am for you, ‘Mis? How much I want you?” 

“If it's anything like how I want you all,” Aramis replied, “then I'm not sure why you're still talking instead of fucking me already.” 

D'Artagnan laughed, and then pulled his fingers out of Aramis and smacked his arse with the other hand. “Because I'm still dressed, is why. When Athos gets too hard, he loses all ability to plan strategically, and then we all suffer the consequences.”

D'Artagnan wiped his hands on a corner of Aramis's robe, then started working on undoing his belts and trouser laces. Athos watched for a minute as d'Artagnan struggled to free his cock from his breeches; he was so hard, it got stuck in a fold of cloth and finally sprang free to smack up against his belly, spattering slick onto d'Artagnan's jacket. With a wry smile Athos patted d'Artagnan on the shoulder and then walked around the barrel to join Porthos by Aramis's head. 

“I want to watch your face,” Athos said, “as he takes you. Will you show us, Aramis?”

“Show you what?” Aramis asked, his voice just a whisper. 

“Everything you feel,” Athos answered. He glanced across Aramis's body to see d'Artagnan stroking oil up and down his thick cock. “Your face is so beautiful, so expressive. He's going to take you now. Don't look away from us, can you do that, Aramis?”

“Of course,” Aramis agreed. D'Artagnan spread him with one hand and steadied his own cock with the other, then started to push in, slowly and carefully, giving Aramis time to feel every inch as he struggled to keep looking up at Athos and Porthos, his gaze moving back and forth between them. Aramis's eyes were wide and shining, his mouth open and slack, lips glistening with spit and swollen from Porthos's kisses and cock. 

“Perfect,” Porthos said, stroking one strong hand through Aramis's hair. “You're so good for us, ‘Mis. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Aramis cried out, his body taut, hands clinging to the clothes hanging down over the barrel sides. “So good, I'm so full, Porthos. It's been so long!”

“That's right,” d'Artagnan said. “Too long. But now you have us back, and we'll give you everything you need.” With that, he pulled out nearly all the way, then shoved back in, letting his hips slam up against Aramis's arse. 

He didn't slow down again, instead fucking Aramis fast and hard. Aramis tossed his head, his eyelashes fluttering closed and a huge smile overtaking his face, grunting little “ah” sounds every time d'Artagnan thrusted into him. 

“He stopped looking at us,” Porthos said, a growl in his voice but a smile in his eyes. 

“That he did,” Athos agreed. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “We'll have to do something about that.” 

Athos was the only one still fully dressed, and he set about rectifying that now, undoing buttons on his trousers and removing them along with his shirt and breeches as Porthos turned Aramis's face this way and that by his grip on Aramis's hair. 

“That we shall,” Porthos replied, drawing out the words with a considering tone in his voice. He looked over Aramis, up and down, then met his eyes again. “Still all right?” 

“Yes!” Aramis called out, and before he finished the word Porthos filled his wide-open mouth. Aramis groaned around the thick cock, his jaw slack, drool escaping at the corners. 

Then Athos reached out to grip Aramis's hair beside where Porthos was holding him. He pulled Aramis's head back, off Porthos's cock, and then down onto his own. The tight, wet heat was almost overwhelming after such a long time being aroused without release. Athos wasn't sure how he would keep from spending in Aramis's hungry mouth, but then Porthos, always so helpful, provided a solution by tugging Aramis back off Athos's cock and onto his own. 

This was met with twin cries of pleasure from Aramis and d'Artagnan. “He's clenching — so tight,” d'Artagnan gritted out between heavy thrusts. “Every time you move him, his — unh — he holds me so tight!” 

“We should keep doing that, then,” Athos said to Porthos. Porthos simply nodded and thrust his hips, fucking Aramis's face a few times before Athos pulled him away again, shoving his own throbbing cock back into that eager mouth. 

They moved him back and forth between them, watching Aramis's face carefully to make sure he was still enjoying it. If his expression of bliss weren't enough to reassure Athos, the way Aramis reached and strained for their cocks certainly did. 

Eventually d'Artagnan slowed a bit, warning them all that he was getting close. 

“Keep holding on a bit longer, love,” Porthos said to d'Artagnan. “I want to try something else.” As d'Artagnan's thrusts evened out into a hard but slow ride, Porthos pulled Athos flush against him, turning their bodies in towards each other, their cocks still both aimed at Aramis’s face, flushed and glistening and gorgeous. 

“I know you've sucked two at the same time, ‘Mis. And I know it's been years since, was years even before you came here. Can we try it now?”

“Please!” Aramis nodded as much as he could against their grips on his hair. “I'm not sure that I can, but please let me try!” 

“You heard the man,” Porthos said to Athos. Together they crowded in closer to Aramis, no longer needing space to move and thrust; now they needed to be as close together as possible. “Let me get in him, and then you, eh?”

Athos nodded, wrapping one arm around Porthos's waist as Porthos curled one around Athos's shoulders. Then Porthos moved the last little bit, sliding his slick and dripping cock over Aramis's lips and into his mouth — just a couple inches, not all the way, not as far as Aramis could take. When he stilled, all eyes turned to Athos. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath — it wouldn't do to spend all over Aramis's face before even getting into his mouth — Athos took himself in hand. He leaned forward, cock nudging against Aramis's cheek, smearing slick in his beard. Athos angled it down a bit, pressed up against Porthos's shaft, Aramis's lips where they met Porthos's hardness. Then suddenly there was a space, a bit of room for him, and Athos took advantage, slowly pushing his cock into Aramis’s mouth alongside Porthos. 

For a moment they were all still and silent together, and then Aramis moaned and d'Artagnan shouted and started fucking him again, slamming into him hard, so hard, every thrust rocking Aramis forward and settling their cocks deeper into his mouth. 

It was so tight and wet, drool and slick dripping all over the ground in front of them, all Athos could do was try to hold on, try not to spend yet. He looked up and met d'Artagnan's gaze briefly, and then d'Artagnan squeezed his own eyes shut, bending forward to fully cover Aramis with his body, and bit down on Aramis's shoulder as he grunted and fucked his way through spending deep in Aramis's body. 

Aramis's eyes were shut, jaw slack, not even trying to close his stuffed-full mouth around the two cocks stretching his lips. Athos was still steadying his dick with one hand, and he let go now to stroke that hand across Aramis's face, rub gently at the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The lines were deeper here than they had been… They had all been through so much, but even after so many years, Aramis’s tense facial muscles relaxed at his touch. 

Porthos rumbled a little, deep in his chest; he sounded pleased, but not satisfied yet, not even close. He nudged at Athos's cheek with his chin, his beard tickling a little. They hadn't needed to thrust into Aramis's mouth before, d'Artagnan’s steady fuck taking care of that for them, but now that he was recovering and peppering Aramis's back and shoulders with kisses, Porthos started to move. 

As Porthos pushed his thick cock deeper into Aramis's mouth, sliding hot and sticky against Athos's length, his lips met Athos's. Their kiss was sloppy, wet, mouths open and teeth nipping. Athos let out a sound that he refused to acknowledge as a whimper, hips moving unconsciously to seek more of Aramis's warmth. He pressed in as Porthos pulled out, then drew back when he felt Porthos push forwards, the two of them working together to give Aramis this gloriously perverse experience. 

They fucked his face like this, in and out, again and again, until Athos felt hot all over, like his skin was too tight for his body. He broke the kiss, a strand of spit stretching between his lips and Porthos's for a moment, then turned his attention back to Aramis and d'Artagnan. 

“Well,” Athos said in a shaky voice. He cleared his throat, then continued. “I believe I can speak for both Porthos and myself when I say that you have excelled in this endeavour, as you do in all others.” Three pairs of unimpressed eyes met this statement, and then Aramis raised his eyebrows, otherwise still unable to speak. “But if you do want to take the three of us, then we should move on, or I truly will spend in your mouth.” 

D'Artagnan laughed, looking away from Aramis for the first time since he spent inside him. “Trust me, Athos. His arse is worth waiting for.” His smile was bright, satisfied in a way that he simply had not been during the years of their separation. He bent down again, kissing the back of Aramis's neck slowly, wetly. “Mmm. Aramis.” Another kiss; a bite, not too hard, but enough that Aramis's eyes opened and started to refocus on the world around him. “Missed you. Love you.”

Athos slowly pulled out of Aramis's mouth, briefly wincing at the cold cellar air on his hard cock… Though if he wanted to last for more than a few strokes in Aramis's arse, the momentary discomfort may be helpful. Porthos also pulled out, crouching down to kiss Aramis, soothing his well-used mouth. 

Walking over to the pile of their belongings, Athos found a few small towels and a skin of water, then returned to his brothers. D'Artagnan was stroking Aramis's back and arse again, preparing to withdraw. Athos dampened a towel, handed it to him with a kiss. When d'Artagnan pulled his cock out of Aramis's slightly-swollen hole, Athos was right there to replace it with three fingers, making sure Aramis didn't feel too empty for a single moment. His arse was messy, sloppy wet with oil and spend. Athos couldn't resist finger-fucking him a little, testing at the stretched muscles, feeling how loose his wayward brother had become. 

“Still with us, ‘Mis?” Porthos asked. Aramis stretched a little, shifting his weight where he lay across the barrel.  

“Mmm… Yes,” he said. “Feels good. Want more.” He seemed well; beyond giving complex answers, perhaps, but Athos trusted Aramis to know what he wanted. Athos took d'Artagnan's place behind Aramis, not waiting for anything else — he was too hard, had waited too long. Lining up his cock with Aramis's dripping hole, Athos grasped Aramis's hips with both hands and buried himself in Aramis's arse with one long, steady thrust. 

Aramis felt exquisite. Tight but also open, accepting. Hot, wet, and so, so welcoming. Athos paused for a moment, revelling in the sensations; he had fucked other people in the past few years, but this was Aramis, finally Aramis, and Athos wanted to enjoy every instant. Then he pulled halfway out, loving the drag of Aramis's body against his own, and pushed back in slowly. 

“Athos,” Aramis moaned, “oh my Athos.” 

“Yes?”

“Just — it’s you, you're inside me, and it's been so long,  _ Athos _ !”

Athos huffed his little not-laugh, letting his body take over and begin giving Aramis what he so clearly desired. With every thrust he felt hotter, tighter, and every push drew little moans and sighs out of Aramis's swollen lips. 

Porthos kissed Aramis over and over, rocking back and forth to let Aramis move easily with Athos's own motions. Then d'Artagnan was back with them, standing at Aramis's side, hands roving over his trembling back. 

“You're so perfect for us,” d'Artagnan said to Aramis. “Showing us how wonderful you can be… You know we’ll treasure this, don't you?” Aramis just moaned more. 

“He doesn't —” Athos started speaking, then had to gasp as Aramis clenched and released around him. “Aramis doesn't know about Constance.”

“Constance? Is she all right?” Aramis was suddenly tense, fear in his face mixed with confusion. Athos stilled, waiting for him to relax again. 

“More than all right,” d'Artagnan reassured Aramis. Porthos kissed the fear and tension away as Athos resumed his long, slow thrusts into Aramis's body. “She's been keeping company with Treville.”

Aramis broke the kiss and looked over to d'Artagnan, his eyes hot and wild. “Tell me more.”

“She… Constance is in charge now, at the garrison. She's so smart, so competent… Her letters were full of news about the recruits, the city…” D'Artagnan trailed off, a dreamy smile on his face as he thought about his wife, but then he frowned. “She told me, when we left, to make sure Athos and Porthos took care of me. Not just in battle, but in everything. But… She wouldn't have anyone like that, at home. I was so worried for her.”

“Of course — mmm,” Aramis nodded encouragingly at d'Artagnan even as Athos continued to take him slowly, deeply. “Of course you want the best for your wife.”

“Wants her happiness,” Porthos added, kissing Aramis's cheek. “Even if he's not the one providing it.”

“Exactly,” d'Artagnan said. He tangled his fingers in Aramis's hair, smiled at Porthos before continuing. “So when she said she was spending time with Treville, I knew I had to encourage that. Athos helped.”

“I'm sure Aramis would have done a better job,” Athos said, “but needs must, and I was at hand.” His voice was getting shakier as the sensations enveloped him. Aramis was squeezing his arse around Athos's cock over and over, every time he pulled out. It felt amazing. 

“You were fine,” d'Artagnan assured him. “So — she can't say much in the letters, they're all intercepted and read, of course, but…”

“Come on, d'Artagnan, get to the good part,” Porthos laughed, “or they'll have spent before you do!” 

“Yes, please!” Aramis begged. “I want to know everything.”

“He likes to lick her,” d'Artagnan said. “Her cunt, I mean. He’s done it in his office in the garrison —”

“‘My office!” Athos corrected him.  

“Your office, fine, you were barely there. He's eaten her out in his carriage, Aramis, while driving around Paris!” Aramis looked at Porthos for confirmation, then back to d'Artagnan. 

“We did always know that Captain Treville was the best of us,” Aramis said. 

“Minister Treville, now. And that's not all — I'm not sure, she couldn't come out and say, but — I think she likes him to fuck her arse.”

Athos felt a hot rush slam through his body; hearing d'Artagnan speak so bluntly about his wife and his former captain, even knowing already what Constance had said in her letters, felt unexpectedly dirty. He finally sped up his thrusts, no longer trying to make it last.

“Can't you picture it?” d'Artagnan continued. “I've seen his dick a few times, when we bathed together after training. He’s not small.” 

Porthos was kissing Aramis again, licking deep into his mouth. Athos let himself fuck Aramis just as hard as he wanted to, every thrust taking him higher and higher, revelling in Aramis's sounds of pleasure and abandon. 

“And Constance would barely let me near her arse, she was always so shy about it. I can't wait to get home and find out what she's learned.” d’Artagnan sounded just as desperate as the rest of them, even though he had spent already. 

“Maybe —” Athos was panting, barely able to speak past his pleasure, “maybe she'll be interested in us, too.” He pictured Constance held still and open between d'Artagnan and himself, Aramis and Porthos right there with them, and then the sensations grew too great and his orgasm washed over him. Athos stilled deep within Aramis's welcoming hole, cock flexing as he spurted over and over, mixing his spend with d'Artagnan's. 

“I hope she wants all of us,” d'Artagnan said. “I love you three so much, I want to share that with the woman I love, too.”

Athos twitched and shuddered. So many years had passed, so much had changed, but it felt like they had only been apart for a few minutes; their love was strong enough to bridge any gap. 

“My turn,” Porthos growled, and Aramis gasped at the change in tone. 

“You have been more than patient,” Athos said.

“Not like Aramis didn't keep him interested,” d'Artagnan teased. 

“Still, my Porthos has waited long enough,” Aramis said. “Athos, my love?”

Athos sighed as he pulled out. “Let's not wait so long again before next time, hm?” D'Artagnan handed Athos a damp towel as he backed away from their little cluster of crates and barrels. 

“Of course not!” Aramis sounded more scandalized at this than he had at anything else they'd said so far, but didn't let it stop him from standing up and stretching. The light and shadow flickered across his muscles, showing a few red spots from where he’d been lying across the barrel but nothing too concerning. “I had it worse, four years without a lover’s touch… Having you every day may not be enough.”

“Good thing there's three of us, then,” Porthos said. “All for one, eh?”

“And one for all,” Aramis answered, a naughty gleam in his eye as he stalked closer to Porthos. Even nude, thighs streaked with oil and spend, he looked every inch the predator. The throbbing, dripping erection may have had something to do with that. 

“C’mere,” Porthos said, beckoning Aramis to him with one big hand. Porthos pulled Aramis's robe off the barrel and draped it over the nearest crate, then sat down. Quietly, d'Artagnan and Athos came closer, flanking Porthos on either side. 

“The romance is gone,” Aramis bemoaned. “Apart for years, and this is what I get now. ‘C’mere’. I should make you wait even longer, Porthos.” Aramis straddled Porthos as he spoke, showing with every movement that his tease was just that, nothing more.

“You wouldn't,” Porthos said. “I need you too much, ‘Mis.”

Just like that, the laughter was gone from the lines of Aramis's body, and he reached out his hands to Athos and d'Artagnan for balance as he began to lower himself down. When he felt Porthos's hardness nudging against his body, Aramis paused, letting Porthos angle his cock just right before continuing. The sound Aramis let out when Porthos finally entered him was nothing short of triumphant. His head tipped back, eyes shining joy and love from deep within, and then Aramis began to move. 

They rocked their hips together, again and again, each short thrust drawing a broken moan out of Aramis. Porthos seemed to be holding his breath, but then Athos realized it wasn't fear holding him back — it was pleasure, pleasure so great Porthos nearly couldn't accept it. 

Their arms wrapped around each other, and Aramis leaned in for a kiss. When he pulled back, both Aramis and Porthos had tears running down their cheeks, but their smiles were wide and full of all the love that Athos knew each of them felt for his brothers. 

Porthos adjusted his grip on Aramis's waist, using both hands to tug their hips even closer together. Aramis's dick rubbed up against Porthos's belly with every motion, smearing trails of slick that shone in the candlelight. 

“Missed you so much,” Porthos said. “Feels so good.” Simple, but so true — Athos knew they all felt the same. 

“We said it wouldn't be about that,” Aramis rasped. He never stopped moving, seeking the heights of pleasure for both Porthos and himself. 

“Don't care,” Porthos answered. “Missed you.”

“And now you have me,” Aramis reassured him. He was crying again. “I'm here, and I love you, and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”

Athos and d'Artagnan were still standing on either side of Porthos and Aramis; with a tilt of his head, Athos beckoned d'Artagnan closer. 

“Not what I expected when I woke up this morning,” Athos said. 

“Neither me,” d'Artagnan answered. 

Athos put an arm around d'Artagnan's waist, and turned his attention back to Aramis and Porthos. 

“Porthos, my Porthos. Are you ready?”

“Fuck, ‘Mis, I was born ready. You?”

Aramis didn't answer, instead planting his feet on the floor and using the leverage to fuck Porthos harder, faster. 

“Can you feel us, Porthos?” d'Artagnan asked. “Can you feel how wide we stretched him, how messy he is?” 

Now it was Porthos who didn't answer, just shaking his head in amazement as he leaned back a little to let Aramis work. Aramis had remembered some of his old skills, it seemed, and he writhed against Porthos. Suddenly Porthos's face twisted and he held Aramis firmly against his lap, grunting over and over as he finally spilled deep in Aramis's ass. Aramis captured Porthos's mouth in a sweet, loving kiss, cradling Porthos's head in his hands. They looked so good together, so right.

They looked like they were alone in the cellar, like all awareness of the whole world outside Porthos’s arms encircling Aramis had disappeared. Athos felt an old fear return, one he hadn't felt in years, since long before Aramis had gone to be a monk. What if Aramis didn't really need d'Artagnan and Athos at all, would be happy with just Porthos? Aramis said he missed them, but… clearly they were doing just fine on their own. 

Before Athos's worries could overtake him too much, Aramis looked up at him. 

“Come here,” Aramis said. He was still crying, and Athos was sure he had never been more beautiful. “Come touch me, I need you all so much.” 

D'Artagnan and Athos both crouched down, each resting one arm on Aramis's back above Porthos's hands, becoming part of that circle, that devotion to their brotherhood they all shared. D'Artagnan grasped Aramis's cock in his other hand, and Athos let the fingers of his free hand wander over Aramis's chest, rolling one nipple between thumb and forefinger, then the other. 

“We're here, Aramis,” d'Artagnan assured him. “All of us together.” His hand sped up and down on Aramis’s shaft, not trying for finesse. Aramis needed to spend, and they were all going to get him there. 

“So many years without touch — I don't want this to end!” Aramis sounded desperate. He was trembling under their hands, offering himself up to them, begging for more with every part of himself. 

“It will never end,” Porthos said. “We won't let it. This is just the beginning, ‘Mis, you said it yourself. We’ll live the rest of our lives together.”

Porthos untangled one big hand from the arms around Aramis, pushed his fingers into Aramis's hair. As he twisted and pulled, tipping Aramis's head back with the force of it, Athos pinched his nipple hard, and d'Artagnan stroked even faster. Aramis's eyes squeezed tight and his jaw went loose, and then he was coming. Streaks of spend splashed up onto Porthos's chest, and Aramis fucked up into d'Artagnan's clever fingers with every pulse. 

When he finished, they didn't move at first. There were kisses to exchange, spend-sticky fingers to lick clean. Eventually Aramis lifted himself off Porthos's lap, wincing at the emptiness and accepting the wet towel d'Artagnan held out to him. 

“The rest of our lives, you say?” Aramis asked, looking around at the three of them. “I'm not sure that will be enough time.”

“We will have to take every opportunity,” Athos said. “Not miss any chances, not anymore.” Athos found Aramis's robe and wrapped him in it; now that they were finished, the cellar seemed rather chilly. 

“I think we can do that,” d'Artagnan agreed, doing up the laces on his jacket. He looked every inch the Musketeer again, though his lips were somewhat kiss-swollen. They often were. 

“I should be ready to go again soon,” Porthos said. He hadn't even started dressing yet, and Athos couldn't bring himself to mind. 

“It's been four years,” Aramis protested. “I need a rest!” 

Their laughter echoed off the stone walls, and Athos began to dress again. He had no doubt that they would be able to save the monastery, protect the children, and capture the gunpowder — now that all four Inseparables were together again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story only having seen the episode once (all of season 3, actually) and so, upon watching this part of the episode again I realized there's a big problem in the plot (such that it is) - they really shouldn't be wasting time screwing around, there are bad guys to fight! So, just suspend disbelief with me for a bit, I feel like it's worth it.


End file.
